A yellow hat is wandering in majesty, her name not an issue.
She passes by my window every morning wearing unusual colors, but I never spotted her face. I know she is beautiful, the eyes were following her footsteps in my street.
Her gravity is feeding the place with energy.
And turning her face left and right is enough to create a state of joy, to turn heads, and to compose music.
I can hear her songs up to my porch.
I never saw her again, and my route misses her, yearns for her colors, her gravity, and her music.
I call her the girl with the yellow hat.
From time to time, I resemble from my balcony. Maybe I can spot a glint of joy.
YOU ARE READING
Petals (#Wattys2016)
PoetryA bundle of poetry. A pigment of our inner self. The process of our daily life.
